You may have noticed, faithful readers, that I’ve been somewhat quiet lately.

There are a few reasons for this. Actually, quite a few reasons.

I’ve started studying nursing (LOVE IT!) and I’ve had exams (hand washing exams, who knew?), lectures, labs, fitting into uni life, making new friends, all that shiz.

I’m training to be an ambulance first responder in a rural town (which will forever remain nameless) which is where my heart lies, and probably has for quite a while. I even wrote a freaking novel centred around paramedics, not realising I was busy writing a novel for a protagonist I actually wanted to be (if you take out all the horror and dystopian post-apocalyptic world, that is). Is that life imitating art, or art imitating life, I wonder?

I am editing my novel. I had high hopes of getting it written and edited and a final manuscript complete by the end of 2014, but hey, life got in the way, yo. I’m giving myself til the end of this year. Hopefully I will have many hours at the station waiting (that means no life and death, too, so winning). But jeez, it’s a long process.

I am no longer comfortable telling my kids’ stories. I’m happy to tell my stories, but not those of my kids. They are for my kids to tell if and when they choose, not me. So you may also notice Melbourne Mum has been stripped of identity-definining photos of my kids as well as most of their stories. I want them to arrive in adulthood with a digital footprint entirely their own.

I am exhausted by social media. I still use it occasionally, but I’m tired of its constantness (OK, not a word, but it should be a word). It is relentless. Draining. Too much soullessness (with the occasional patches of soul). I am more interested in the connections I make in the real world. With the family down the street who have kids at my creche or my school. With the one on one contact. The hugs. The tactile nature of humans. I think social media has its place, and many people I have “met” on social media are now my true (indeed, some of my favourite) friends, but there is too much nebulousness on SM. Too many platforms. Too much going in the zeitgeist for me to be bothered.

I no longer define myself as a blogger. I am a writer and will always be one. I was one before blogs existed and I will be one until my grave. But blogging seems empty to me, now. I’ve reached out to people here, hopefully I’ve touched some hearts, but when I read over many of my posts, they seem empty to me. Lacking soul. I think what I’m doing now is filling my soul and I may occasionally write about it here. I’m not saying blogging need be an empty pursuit, it just is for me. For the most part.

I’m not saying goodbye, but Melbourne Mum will mostly switch to geekery, medical science, nursing, pop culture, occasionally framed around being a parent as that is a massive part of my identity as well.

I don’t care what other people think of me, I never really have, but I’m just being more careful about what other people can see of me.

Me: [knowing pause] Finish this sentence: “Kim, I can’t imagine you as a….”

Mum: Not nursing!

I knew that my mum would get it in 0.000004 seconds. She might be in her 70s but she is onto it. Of course, the fact that she’s in her 70s means she has a radically out-dated idea of what a nurse is and actually does (which is kinda weird, since she used to be a scientist herself). She doesn’t see me as anyones’s “lapdog” or “servant”, which on one hand is great that she thinks that, but on the other hand that’s not what nursing is about. And let’s face it, I am already the servant to two feisty daughters.

I tossed up between nursing and paramedicine for quite a while. And everyone I spoke to who is or had been a paramedic themselves said the same thing:

Do nursing first. Then do a year of paramedics on top of that if you want (and if you’re not thoroughly rooted). Instant employability. Nurse. Paramedic. You get both. Nursing is a registered profession whereas paramedics is not (yet). They’re working to change that, but for the time being, I’m a fan of the double dip.

And really, the two professions are very similar. Paramedics is grittier and dirtier, but you get to see a lot of the same stuff as a nurse. Ultimately, it’s about being useful to others and studying medical science. Anatomy. Pathophysiology. Biology. Learning how to inject shit into people’s bodies. Hopefully good shit. And then there’s the actual shit, the actual vomit, the actual blood and bodily secretions that patients will serve to you on a human platter through no fault of their own.

I got accepted into nursing two days after sitting the entrance exam. I am excited. Stoked, actually. Part-time, so I can still swan around and be a volunteer medic while I study and perhaps actually continue my writing/editing and make a showing of being a parent as well.

I know, I can hear you all rolling around the floor in paroxysms of “you wish, you deluded creature”. I never said 2015 wouldn’t be busy. I just hope I manage to stay sane.

Some of you may have caught up with my thoughts recently on a huge career change into nursing/paramedicine. If you missed it, don’t worry, I’ll probably bore you senseless with the contents of my medical brain a little more before the year is out. For people who know me really well, the career about-face doesn’t come as that much of a surprise (because truly, the epiphany should have come several years ago), but others are flummoxed.

“I can’t see you as a nurse,” or

“You know paramedics see dead people, right?”

or simply,

“Huh?”

Interestingly the same people who can’t see me as a nurse can see me as a paramedic, but the two are inextricably linked (why else would you be able to do a double degree in them both, hmmmmm?) so it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch, should it? Should it?

Anyway, what flummoxes me personally is not my career change, but my inexplicable disappearance into our garden.

Let me start by saying I do have a recessive gardening gene, unlike craft, for which I have no gene whatsoever on my DNA. None. But I’ve gone a little too bonkers on compost and earthworms. Not in a radical “let’s permaculture the f*ck out of this garden”, more like a “let’s make it as sustainable (i.e. low maintenance) as we can so I don’t have to think about it once I lose interest.” Part of the motivation was walking outside and thinking, “Oh my freaking god, this backyard is an uninspiring DISGRACE.” Embarrassment and shame tend to get me moving on these things.

I’ve always had a hankering to hang shit off old wooden ladders. It must be something about the height of these things, or the fact I live in the inner-north and am thus predisposed to hipster wankery, I don’t know, but I’ve always wanted one so I went and bought one from an old lady. It’s sweet. I f*cking love it. And then I went all commando at Ceres. Oh wait, no, not that kind of commando, although it is an earthy kind of place so they probably wouldn’t have minded too much.

How good is Ceres Nursery, though (not sponsored, yo)? I can’t rate it highly enough. Granted, they have permacultured the hell out of the place (what is permaculture anyway, I just don’t understand it. It’s like physics for my brain (I don’t understand physics), only involving soil and “zones”) but I drained them dry. I went fully native.

Seriously, I bought all Australian natives. They’re low maintenance, right? And they’re beautiful. Stunning. Why I once bothered with ferns I don’t know. I was always going to kill those ferns. Ferns are impossible.

So I’m getting dirty. Not in an Eminem kind of way, although that would be acceptable, but dirty in a goddamn-how-good-is-this-black-rotting-food-coming-out-the-bottom-of-the-wormies-bin shit? Yeah, it’s good. I’m getting in touch with my inner Taurus, which doesn’t get much airing these days. I’ve even set up a garden HDU (High Dependency Unit) for plants I’ve already killed. Plants I’m convinced I can nurse back to health. What kind of person thinks that? What part of “this plant is dead, dude” am I not understanding?

So yeah, I don’t recognise myself. I’ve also started doing algebra problems for fun. I’ve never understood algebra so figured it was about time I learnt.

It’s never too late, right?

And I may not recognise myself, but this strange new person is pretty cool.

Have you ever made a significant career change in your 30s or 40s? I mean, a motherflipping DRASTIC change that is risky and requires going back to Uni and then doing shitkicking clinical work (indisputably involving vomit and bodily fluids) and then maybe, just maybe you’ll get to do the thing you’re pretty sure you will love?

Well, that’s where my head is at right now.

Lately, I’ve been caught up in a spiral of feeling compelled to help others and balancing that with the need to pay bills whilst using the skills I already have. Feeling like I missed my calling 10 years ago, feeling like a privileged white woman who wants to make a freaking difference but not knowing exactly how to do that. But then feeling like a selfish arsehole because I am a mother and my kids need me to be around, not disappearing in a defibrillator and a text book.

The most obvious choice to me is paramedicine—it’s probably the discipline that most suits my personality, but essentially it’s about contributing to the community, to people, to making people’s lives better. It’s that simple. And yet getting there is going to take an incredible amount of effort and hard work. I don’t mind hard work, but it’s a huge mental leap to commit to something I’m pretty sure I’ll love, but won’t know for sure until I actually do it. It’s a risk, but then, nothing worth doing is without risks. The thought of doing paramedicine (or its cousin, nursing) excites me, it puts a smile on my face. My instinct tells me that this is absolutely the right decision for me. But there are sacrifices. Family, finances, the future.

I regret not doing this ten years ago before I had kids, but I’m not sure that I would have been ready ten years ago. Irony. Not lost.

Having worked in human resources for the better part of eight years, I have a few people skills. Anyone who has talked to me for a millisecond knows I love people and making them laugh, but what I really want to do is help them in a practical/health sense, not help corporates make more money than they really need. The thought of going back into a corporate HR job to “make money for the man” depresses the shit out of me. It chips away at my soul whenever I think about it. HR doesn’t challenge me and it doesn’t fulfil me. I am a woman without bullshit. I tell it like it is. HR needs more people like me, but paradoxically HR is also not particularly tolerant of people like me. I do love the editorial/social media path I’ve gone down since HR, but it’s unreliable, work can be thin on the ground and I still don’t feel that it is “making a difference”. I am compassionate, I am fit, I love medical science. I like being active. I love helping people. This is right for me.

But then that infernal devil’s advocate says, “You are kidding yourself that you can be a paramedic. Just do what you’ve always done for a job, you can volunteer with the SES, Ambulance or MFB.” But I can’t do that. I can’t go back to sitting behind a desk all day, in a job that is well-paid but empty. I’m painfully aware that ambos are overworked, underpaid, have little life balance and the bureaucracy in the department is beyond a joke. But then I talk to paramedics who feel blessed that they have the opportunity to do their job in spite of all that. Loving what you do. Doesn’t everyone want that?

My problem? I’ve never been a person who does things by halves. When I feel dissatisfied, I make changes.

And then there is writing and my book. My brain is waging a three-way war. Sparring between the creativity of writing, something I’m dearly passionate about (as you all know), the status quo of what I’m doing at the moment, and the noisiest part of my brain which is helping save lives in a practical sense—paradoxically anti-creative in a way. Protocol-driven. Science based. I love both science and writing (and have been able to indulge my love of medical science in my book anyway). I don’t know which one I want more.

I know writing makes me special. It makes me less than ordinary and that is important to me. But fuck man, paramedics save lives, that is paranormally special. Writing is my power but I don’t know if it’s enough.

To celebrate the upcoming 2014/15 TV season, I’ve put together some quality quotes from current shows that every self respecting human (who doesn’t mind dropping the occasional f*bomb) should have in their Comeback Arsenal.

Most of these you can’t use on your kids of course (you can find those here), but you can use them as retorts for the special things arseholes say or do to you. So really, this should be called the Arsehole Arsenal. Or something. Some of these are contextual, some are panaceas and can be used in pretty much any situation.

Use them sparingly. Or not. And if you don’t give me a call, won’t you, so I can come and watch.

“I’m terribly sorry, but go fuck yourself.”—Sgt. John Porter, Strike Back. Perhaps my favourite all-round comeback. Doesn’t hurt that it’s said by a complete hottie either. That always seems to make these things more palatable.

“You betrayed me? No one in the history of torture’s been tortured with torture like the torture you’ll be tortured with.”—Crowley, Supernatural

“You want to kill me, you’re going to have to do better than that wrench.”—Rick, The Walking Dead. But judging by Rick’s state at the end of Season 4, a shower and a shave might.

This past weekend I attended the fabulous Problogger conference on the Gold Coast (for bloggers, hence the name). I know right, what a bizarre concept. Few people understand what bloggers even do let alone appreciate that these events are in HOT demand.

550 passionate writers/photographers/crafters/fashionistas/businesspeople who have carved out their very own corner of the interwebs descend upon each other like rabid poodles in August of each year. Mmmmmmm, rabid poodles. That would make a good short story, yo.

For me, Problogger is about the people, the connections I make with other like-minded dudes and dudettes. I don’t run my blogs for money (occasional advertising excepted), I do it for love. So I actually have no desire to be a “pro”blogger in the truest sense. I will leverage my writing/fiction blog to publicise my novel when it’s published (happy positive thoughts, happy positive thoughts) but Melbourne Mum is all love. And a bit of irreverence and naughtiness with a side serve of Benedict and other random pop culturisms, but basically love.

L-R: Raucousness with Elle, Brooke and Clare; this is what happens when your workers revolt; with Em whose love for Jensen Ackles is duly noted.

These are some of the things I learnt at this year’s event:

You may be short in stature, but your words can be truly inspiring. Pat Flynn is my dream man. Not only is he cute and charismatic, but he gets inspiration from his wife’s obsession with her “boys” (Backstreet Boys) to muse on how to turn casual readers into raving fans. Wish my husband would do that for “my boys”. #sorryjensen

SEO is not a dirty sex position. Actually, it might be (and I think I kinda want to see that) but it’s also a handy tool for bringing the flock to your blogging shepherd. My, that sounded a bit biblical, didn’t it. Never mind.

People who write their top 5 celebrity crushes in their phone are destined to become your friends.

Happiness is finding your tribe. They may be people you only see once a year at Problogger events (!) or even people you’ve just met, but I just about chucked my guts up I belly laughed so hard. Actually, that may have been the bubbly. Or a combination of both. I’m not sure.

550 people is a lot of people to be around, and I’m speaking from an extrovert’s perspective here. I have no idea how introverts cope.

Time away from your family can be magical. I missed my family by the end of the weekend, but how luxurious is it to sit up til 1am writing in a comfy bed, debriefing with your awesome roommate (thanks Ros!) or have a long hot shower without being interrupted by the manic strains of “I NEED TO GO TOILET!” I took so many showers I probably squeaked when you brushed past me.

There is such a thing as WordPress meetups. I know. Bugger me standing.

When your husband confesses on your return that he’s actually attended a WordPress meetup, you believe that the Matrix may actually exist.

If bloggers didn’t have access to a phone and Twitter, there would be mass wailing and gnashing of teeth. I include myself in this definition of “bloggers”. In fact, I am probably the worst offender.

Bloggers are a pretty fucking brilliant bunch. Of course there are always people in any group who won’t float your ark (what’s with me and the Bible today?) but truly, you’d be hard pressed to find a more supportive and kick-arse community.

L-R: I had just met these girls, Rachel and Sarah and I already loved them. See? Melbourne Mum. All about love; there’s a pirate joke in here somewhere, but, wine; the delicious Kim-Marie and Sonia.

Did you go to Problogger Event? Do you have no freaking idea what I’m on about?

Last August, your keynote at the Problogger Event had a profound effect on me. You talked passionately about the pursuit of making our lives extraordinary. You talked about not being one thing, but starting with something.

I am one of the Great Undeciders. I am a creative, but that creativity comes in many forms, and gives rise to many urges. Do I want to write, and what does that look like? Novels? Plays? Screenplays? Do I want to sing? Do I want to go back to the theatre? Do I want to drive myself insane with wanting to be everything all at once?

Well, I was on a precipice last August when I attended Problogger (figuratively speaking, you understand). I was frustrated and conflicted, wondering what my legacy was going to be, what kind of creative role model I was presenting for my kids (right now my three year old is belting out “Let it Go” in our lounge room, so I’m guessing 1) their creative minds are going to be OK and 2) the ear worm in my brain may just eat me alive before I finish this letter).

You sang us your beautiful song, “Amazing Life” and the lyrics, “You don’t have to be one thing, but you have to start with something” ignited something in my brain back then, a fire I knew was there, but had let atrophy for 20 years. I’d started many novels, fuelled with nothing more than an idea and they had all died a few chapters in.

But after your keynote last year, I went back to my hotel room and said,

“Fuck it, yo, I’m going to do this. I’m going to WRITE THAT NOVEL.”

And you know, last Friday I printed the whole bloody thing out, 94,238 words of the best (and yet darkest) adventure I’ve had in my life. The story has been told and I finally finished the project I wanted to complete 20 years ago. This is a novel I actually couldn’t have written 20 years ago (the editing stage may take another 20 years though!) I’ve discovered my passion, how I want to leave my legacy on the world.

I didn’t realise the significance of finishing the story on Friday, until you sang “Amazing Life” at your Winter Secrets Concert at the Corner that very night and I realised I have come full circle. It made me incredibly emotional to hear that song, to have the epiphany that I’ve only heard that song twice in my life and it signified the beginning and ending of this incredible adventure which is, in many ways, just beginning.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be the case that a stranger speaks a truth that crystallises the things that you know deep down, but that is exactly what happened to me last August.

I first became aware that there was such a thing as Comic Con (aka Comics Convention) back in 2010, when I happened across Joshua Jackson taking off Comic Con with his hilarious Paceycon.

Comic Con is a mega geekfest of everything comic and pop-culture—The Walking Dead, Marvel, X-Men, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Neil Gaiman, Japanese manga etc. Admittedly, I’m a fairly soft-core geek/nerd, more of a TV & movie pop-culturalist (because I’m posh, too) than a Marvel or Cosplay fan but Comic Con is everything I love about everything.

Australia has their own version— Oz Comic Con, and whilst it might not attract the same huge names as the San Diego original (the Adelaide leg excepted, sniff), it is an incredible weekend. People come here and leave their inhibitions at the door. There is fun, there is pop-culture and geekery, there is spectacular artistry and design, and there are touchables. Actually, did I just say that? Touchables? Cough, sorry, must be all the excess blood that’s gone to my head.

Which brings me to my first segue (and apology for disgraceful behaviour) by confessing that the following photo was taken at the end of the day, I was thoroughly shattered and they were piping arse-slapping porn music into the photo booths. What was I meant to do? Act normally?

Actually, this kind of is normally for me.

It all makes sense to me now.

The queue for Daniel Portman (that’s the bloke in the above photo in case you didn’t know—he plays Podrick in Game of Thrones who is totally getting together with Brienne of Tarth in season 6, but anyhoo) was a third as long as the one for Kristiaan (Hodor). I’m sure Kristiaan is a very nice man, but ummmmmm, hot boy with delightful Scottish accent? Not rocket science, people.

And yes, my hand just suddenly appeared on Daniel’s man chest. Apparently my subconscious wanted to know what the fuss was all about. Any more questions?

The Royal Exhibition Building may be a freaking maze, but it’s a beautiful freaking maze.

They really should rename #ozcomiccon, #ozqueuecon, because that’s what you do an awful lot of at these things—queueing. It’s not the organiser’s fault—there are literally thousands of geeky punters wanting a piece of everyone and everything. Ahem, one of them was me, because Game of Thrones, Sherlock and the Walking Dead.

Some people really wanted to see Arthur Darvill.

I mean, really wanted to see Arthur Darvill.

Arthur Darvill (Rory in Doctor Who) was a delight, the kind of bloke you could see yourself popping down to the local pub with for a pint. Or a cup of tea. Judging by that aran sweater, I’m voting the latter.

I was tempted by the merchandise, but exercised admirable restraint.

Admirable restraint wasn’t such a hotly contested thing for others.

Tom Skerritt panel

I am a bit of a Tom Skerritt fangirl (Alien is seminal, dude) and his panel was so inspiring, with all the remarkable perspectives of an 80 year old having had an incredible career. Tom talked about how we are all storytellers, that our stories are unique and that life is all about taking risks and seizing on opportunities. I may have been one of 300 people at the panel, but he talks to the crowd as if he is talking directly to you, which is an exceptional talent. I may have ended up with some of those pesky wet things in the corner of my eyes by the end.

This is me before I felt up a celeb and wept during a panel. I don’t look so scary now, do I?

You’ve got to start them early, yes?

I would probably bring a particularly hardcore 8 year old geek/game fan to Oz Comic Con, but much of the content and merchandise was fairly adult. I did see plenty of parents with their kids here,who seemed to be having a brilliant time, I’m just not sure I’d do the same. Plus, queues. Unless you have a particularly patient child, queues are a special kind of hell to be endured.

Gothic backdrop

Thanks for the wonderful day, Oz Comic Con. I’ll be back. No wait, different convention.

This competition has now closed. Congratulations to Mallory, who won with her smashing poem about Rodney McKay.

OK, you crazy Melburnians. We may have missed out on seeing Benedict Cumberbatch when he visited Adelaide’s Comic Con (no bitterness there, oh none at all) but don’t miss seeing some incredibly cool pop culture and comic book cats at the Melbourne Oz Comic Con!

I’m giving away a Weekend Family Pass (2 adults + 2 kids) to the event ($100 value). Can I get a Hell Yes?

Held at the Royal Exhibition Building over the weekend of 5—6 July (yep, smack bang in the middle of Victorian School Holidays), Melbourne Oz Comic Con is a two-day Festival of Extreme Geek. There will be a HUGE range of film, television, animation and comic book guests; there will be panels, parades and photo opps—whatever floats your boat, really! The full schedule can be found here.

Love Game of Thrones (oh, I know you do), come and see Kristian Nairn (Hodor) and Daniel Portman (Podrick). Jennifer Morrison (Once Upon a Time / House) will be a guest, Arthur Darvill (Rory from Dr. Who), Shawn & Aaron Ashmore (bringing some serious eye candy with them), Tom Skerritt and freaking MacGyver (Richard Dean Anderson).

Do you seriously need more incentive to enter? There’s even stuff for the kiddies at Oz Comic Con. Come on now, just think of the children!

TO WIN a family pass to Melbourne Oz Comic Con, answer this question in the comments of this post by 5pm, Tuesday 1st July.

“Which cult TV or comic character would you like to have dinner with and why?”

Details of the Family Pass:Melbourne Oz Comic Con9:00am—6:00 pm Saturday 5th July and Sunday 6th July 2014(pass is valid both days for 2 adults + 2 children)Royal Exhibition Building, Carlton

The name of the promotion is: Melbourne Oz Comic Con Weekend Family Passcompetition. | The promoter is Melbourne Mum in conjunction with Oz Comic Con. | This competition is open to Australian residents over the age of 18 only. | All entries must be received no later than 1/7/2014 5:00 pm – AEST. | Comments submitted after this time will not be considered for the giveaway. | Only one entry per person. | Employees, immediate family members, retailers, suppliers, associated companies and agencies are not eligible to enter. | This is a game of skill. The winner will be awarded based on the creativity of their answer to the question “Which cult TV or Comic character would you like to have dinner with and why?”? The most creative/funniest answer, as judged by Melbourne Mum will win the family pass. | The prize will be in the form of a family pass valid for both days, which will be available for collection at the specialty ticket desk at Oz Comic Con on July 5th | The results of the giveaway will be published on the Melbourne Mum Facebook page on 2/7/2014. | Prizes are not redeemable for cash and are non-transferable. | The total prize value is $100. | The prize is tickets for the Melbourne Comic Con only. Winners must make their own way to and from the venue.

On my episode, Eddie talked me through surviving an aneurysm (which was a bit awks, but anyhoo) and after the episode aired, someone reached out to me through my blog, which also got a plug (guess I should have answered a question correctly before mentioning it). Without going into detail (because it’s not my story to tell), this person was eager to hear my story as someone near to them was going through something similar to what I did.

For me, there was the inevitable soul search involved and acknowledgement of my incredible fortune to have not only survived, but thrived. My brain works on a more abstract level now (this may or may not be a gift) and although shit got very real back then, it didn’t stay real.

But there are people out there who are not so lucky. People who have to relearn how to walk, talk, see, all depending on where their aneurysm was, how bad it was and how quickly surgeons got to it. People who die instantly, people who hang in there for a while, and then succumb to the damage. People who lose loved ones from nothing more than a cerebral freak of nature.

All I can do is tell my story. It is my motivation for blogging and for writing; being able to reach out to people, hoping they might find some inspiration in it, but I’m also aware that my story had a happily ever after and many people don’t have that luxury. I don’t want to give people false hope, unrealistic hope, but isn’t hope all we have?

All these feelings were brought home on recently rediscovering a song I had forgotten about—”White Foxes” by Susanne Sundfør. I love the power of music, the way the seduction of harmony and lyrics and surprising musical movement can transport you to another place and time. I am a huge fan of emotion (my husband laughed at me on Sunday night because I was in tears an hour after the big, beautiful Bastille concert) and in a way, this song is bad for me. It takes me back to that place I was when I had the aneurysm, both the physical pain and the distress of not knowing whether my kids were going to lose their mum, but it also reminds me of epiphany, good fortune and how incredible the human body is at kickstarting itself. But it’s luck, at the end of the day it’s total random, horrible luck.

[WARNING: there is graphic footage of a craniotomy in this video and some of the themes may be disturbing to some of you, but the song and video will take your breath away. I may mean that literally.]

There’s nothing wrong with remembering pain, because it’s how we reference the incredible things that happen to us.